Laundry Day
by Steffs
Summary: Sam and Dean are on a hunt when Dean meets a 'Hot Chick' in the Laundromat. The hunt continues but Sam notices somethings 'off' with his brother.


This is a one shot set in Season Two.

**Laundry Day**

"Dean…DEAN."

Dean jerked. "What?"

"You were sleeping."

"Dude, I was not sleeping." Dean, who _had_ been sleeping checked around. Nothing; he let his body relax and went back to staring at the vibrating machine, listening to the clothes tumbling. Somewhere deep down he had a suspicion that this wasn't a hunt and Sam was pulling a fast one, getting him to do the laundry when it wasn't his turn. Shifting on the hard bench his stomach growled and Dean realised that he hadn't eaten for several hours. "Sam…"

"Just stay alert." Sam's voice came from the back room where he was hidden from the main part of the Laundromat.

"I am freaking alert."

There was silence except for the rhythmic electric hum of the washing machine motor and the occasional click as a button hit the metal drum inside. Dean was bored, hungry and bored the worst combination.

"Tell me again why I'm sitting in a Laundromat at two in the morning." He heard Sam sigh and imagined the huff and the roll of the eyes.

"You know why."

"Yeah but I just want you to say it again, 'cause I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"This was the only connection between the four victims, this and that they all died the same way." Sam didn't sound as confident as he might.

"It's a bit thin, they died of nothing, they just stopped." Dean was beginning to warm to his subject. "Not even natural causes, their bodies were fine except for a few bruises according to the autopsy reports. The fact that they used the same Laundromat just means they all had clean underwear."

Dean's scepticism annoyed Sam and he felt like he had to defend himself. "They all used this place in the months before their deaths."

"That's pretty thin too. Months! Not weeks or days is hardly a significant pattern. I think I did point this out earlier. I don't know what you are expecting to happen but…"

"A death omen."

"What?" Dean turned his head quickly in surprised anger. When Sam had proposed sitting in this freaking Laundromat for hours, this hadn't been mentioned, it hadn't even come up this side of Thursday.

"We're waiting for a Death Omen."

"Sonofabitch…WE! I'm the one sitting here with my ass out and you didn't think that it was important enough to mention 'til NOW. A freaking Death Omen."

"Semantics."

"Semi…what?.. " Dean cut off as the door pushed open and he half rose reaching for the sawed off under the paper on the next chair. He then realised that a Death Omen wasn't going to come in clutching a large blue bag full of dirty washing and relaxed slightly, withdrawing his hand.

A tall blonde, natural Dean observed, dumped her burden in front of an empty machine, turned and smiled at him. He smiled back and sat straighter. She wasn't pretty to look at, more beautiful.

"Hey."

Dean's interest rose, things were looking up. "Hey," he returned.

She flashed the smile again revealing a row of perfect teeth, and cute crinkly eyes transforming her face to beyond beautiful. Maybe there was a god.

Dean watched her shove the contents of the bag into the top of the machine, noting the delicate, red patterned lacy panties with approval.

"So, do you come here often?" He grinned to show that he was being deliberately cheesy and saw that she took the comment as it was meant.

"Now and again, you know how it is, when the clothes need washing." She laughed a tinkly, pretty laugh and Dean was in love.

Watching the exchange Sam sighed again, realising that the girl was not only, possibly in danger but that she was a distraction that Dean couldn't afford.

"Dean." He hissed but Dean either didn't hear him or was ignoring him. Damn it, there was nothing he could do except sit it out. Sam knew that Dean wouldn't get too rapt in the girl to notice what was going on around him but as he leaned back against the wall Sam wished he had a sick bag 'cause listening to Dean in full flirt mode was gonna make him heave.

"Are you staring at my underwear?" She was looking directly at him. Dean blushed it wasn't often that he was caught out but she was still smiling so obviously hadn't taken offence. His mind whirled, strangely unable to think of a retort witty enough to get him out of the embarrassment so he went with it.

"Guilty."

"You'll have to show me yours." There was a pause then she added, "after you get them out of the machine."

Dean was quite sure she meant to leave a pause that long; deliberately teasing him.

"Unless they are too embarrassing, like Spiderman ones or something." Yes she was definitely teasing.

"I'm more Batman."

Picking at the stitching on his sleeve Sam tried to remember approximately how long they had been in the Laundromat and how long a wash cycle was, thus calculating how long he had to sit and listen to the drivel that was two people 'chatting' each other up. He was sure he had never sounded so fatuous when he had talked to Jess but then Jess and he had meant more to each other than just whiling away an evening. He was brought out of his memories by the bang of the door. Looking around he saw Dean was once more alone.

"Get our stuff and let's go." He emerged from the office: tonight was a washout. He groaned inwardly at the pun, one he certainly wasn't going to share with his brother. Sam checked his watch, three am. All he wanted to do now go back to the motel and flop out on his bed. His theory had been a long-shot anyway, there was no evidence of there being a Death Omen; it was a hunch and probably a pretty stupid one at that.

"The cycle's not finished and I promised to watch her machine so no one takes her stuff."

Sam was exasperated. "Dude no one is gonna take her stuff its three am in the morning, there _is_ no one to take her stuff." He spread his arms wide to emphasise his point.

"Go ahead," Dean was equally irritated and he stared his brother down. "I'm waiting for the hot chick." Sam opened his mouth, thought better of it, huffed and left. There was no point in talking to Dean in this mood.

XXXXXXXX

Dean had come in about an hour after Sam had settled into bed and knowing that his brother was there Sam had finally relaxed into a deeper sleep. It was a habit he'd had since Dean had started hunting with his Dad, leaving him on his own. He would doze lightly but not sleep properly until Dean had returned; he'd had been the same with Jess. It wasn't a conscious thing, a fear that he could voice, it was just something he did and once Dean had flopped onto his bed and began to snore softly Sam's body slept.

Light streaming through the thin motel curtains signified morning and padding towards the bathroom Sam smacked Dean's feet. "Dean, Come on wake up. We got work to do." He'd been thinking that they needed to do some more research, interview some of the victim's families and see if they could find something, some other common factor. It was when he came out, having showered, cleaned his teeth and dressed that he realised Dean hadn't moved. "Dean, bro, come on." He pulled the covers down some and finally got a reaction albeit a groan.

Sam sat on the side of the bed. "Dean? You okay?" It was unlike his brother to sleep in, it was weird Dean was usually a morning person, however little sleep he got.

"Dean?"

"Yeah? " Dean rolled from his stomach to his side and squinted his eyes open, trying to focus on Sam's face. "What's the emergency?"

"Nothin'…I wanna go visit the families go over a few things." There came another groan from Dean as he flopped forward again burying his head in the pillow. "Sam give a guy a break."

"I'll go get coffee." Sam stood and with a last glance backward towards his brother, a frown on his forehead, he left to go find breakfast.

Hearing the door close behind his brother, Dean settled further into the bed. He felt tired which was surprising because he had done nothing last night. He and the hot chick had sat and talked while the washing washed. Then she had said goodnight and he'd come back to the motel. He rarely stayed out all night, even when he hooked up, because he knew Sam didn't settle. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass, like having your mom wait up for you, but he knew it was subliminal on Sam's part all mixed up with the loss of their mom, their weird childhood and the things they knew that went bump in the night.

The nausea crept up on him, then hit him like a freight train; he barely made it to the toilet before he emptied his stomach, retching painfully. The bile burned his throat and he grasped the glass on the sink, letting the tap run while he sipped the cool water. He was shivering even though it was warm in the room and sweat poured off him. He waited and gradually his body calmed as his breathing returned to normal. Eventually, on shaky legs he made it back to the bed, curling up, pulling the covers back over him and closing his eyes.

"Coffee and Donuts." Sam wafted the coffee cup over the bed making sure Dean got the full effect of the aroma.

"Man, can't a guy get any sleep." Dean's voice was muffled by the pillow, the coffee made his stomach turn but he turned and propped himself up on one elbow and took the cup from his brother.

Sam sipping his own coffee sat at the table and opened his laptop, worried he kept snatching glances at his brother. Dean looked as bad as he'd ever seen him, pale, heavy eyed with a sheen of sweat over his skin.

"Dude, I ask again, you okay?"

"Peachy." Dean avoided the eye contact that Sam offered, staring down at the Styrofoam container in his hand seemingly intent on the coffee that he wasn't drinking.

XXXXXXXX

It was two weeks later and no further on in the hunt that Sam had finally had it with Dean. "Talk to me man, Are you ill or something?"

"Sam, I'm fine, just tell me what you found."

"You don't look fine. You don't eat, you either sleep round the clock or don't sleep at all and then I find you wandering around in the middle of the night." Sam had woken on several nights to find Dean walking around the room. Then one night Dean had been letting himself back into the room having been out, for how long Sam had no idea and when Sam had tried talking to him Dean hadn't said a word just got back into bed and closed his eyes.

"What's going on with you man?" Sam watched Dean disassemble his glock. "Dean talk to me."

"I got nothing to say Sammy" Dean wanted Sam to leave it, he felt like shit but he wasn't going to admit it to his brother and give him the satisfaction of being right. All he wanted was for Sam to quit giving him the third degree but Sam had that look. The look that meant Sam wasn't going to leave it until he opened up. Wearily Dean took the attack in the hopes that he could deflect his brother from pushing it any further. "Sam I'm fine. I haven't got some terminal disease. I'm not gonna lay myself down on the train tracks and I'm not gonna hug you so quit asking me if I'm all right and tell me what you found or, so god help me, I'm gonna nail your ass to the wall and leave you hangin'."

There had been three more deaths since they had staked out the Laundromat, all following the same MO. Interviews with the families had revealed nothing of any significance. Dean wanted to leave it but Sam wasn't happy, his instincts said there was something unnatural happening and he had insisted that they go over everything again. Dean, gun still in one hand, leafed through sheets of printouts; copies of police reports, Coroner's reports, statement transcripts and autopsy details that were strewn across Sam's bed. He must have read them all a dozen times over, the print dancing in front of his grit filled eyes. Dean rubbed, pressing his knuckles into the sockets and then ran his hand over his head stifling a yawn.

" Read this one, it's the wife's statement from the last death?" Sam handed it over and watched his brother as he read. Dean turned the page over and finished the few lines on the back.

"And?" Dean questioned. He turned the sheet over again as if something might magically reveal itself.

"Didn't you see it?"

"Obviously not." Dean was fed up with the guessing games. He was feeling bone tired, his body ached everywhere and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He was still pissed at Sammy for keeping on asking if he was okay but he respected his brother's instincts enough to listen to his ideas.

"It's the Death Omen." It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh come on Sammy I thought we'd put that one to bed."

"No, look here." Sam pointed to half way down the first page. "She says her husband was complaining about an old woman getting in his way."

"Again, and?" Dean raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Well." Sam rifled through several pages, pulling out another sheet of typescript.

"Look there."

Dean read out loud the line Sam was indicating. _"I thought it was a bit weird he kept saying this old woman was following him but there's lots of old folk round here."_

"It's the old woman. The Death Omen." Sam was triumphant.

"What? Sam get real. How can you say that?"

"Cause it's not the only sighting. Some witnesses reported seeing an old woman in the street. There's one here, and here." He thrust more pages into Dean's face. There was a silence and Sam could see Dean thinking it through.

"If she was a Death Omen what was she doing still hanging around and how come they saw her and are still around to tell, don't Death Omens turn up, show themselves to the victim, then disappear, leaving the victim to die."

"No that's just it, plenty of people see the Omen but it's the one who sees her face who dies."

Softening a little Dean decided that he was prepared to go along with Sam's theory, especially if it meant he could get some sleep before next week. "Okay, if it is the old woman. I'm not saying it is but IF it is, what's the lore?"

"There's lots of variations on a theme, especially in Celtic lore. Stories of old woman or Hags appearing…" Sam watched as Dean comically mouth Hag to himself. "…The Irish banshee, the Welsh Gwrach y Rhibyn, the Sila-na-gig they all signify death in some way or another. Some are seen at crossroads, others in forest glades and there are lots of stories of the omen being an old woman seen washing blood stained clothes in a stream. All are described as hideous crones and all are said to predict the death of those who see them or rather those who see the face."

Dean listened and went back to cleaning his gun, rubbing the oiled cloth over its metal. He was so tired that he'd had to force himself to concentrate but the action, almost auto responsive, soothed him, kept him focused. "So why did all the victims die in the same way? I mean these women are just Death _Omens_ they don't kill."

"But they do, besides warning of impending death, there are accounts of them attacking individuals as they sleep, drinking their life's blood. The legend has it that they attack, late at night, preferring the light of the full moon; apparently they draw their supernatural strength from it. Man, it's really interesting, also they don't kill straight away, they only take small quantities, returning again and again to the victim who literally 'wastes' away."

Sam was really into all this stuff and it made Dean smile inwardly, to see him all fired up. Sam continued. "Don't you think it's fascinating how the legends get intermingled and twisted around. This folklore predates the lore on Vampires and Werewolves yet it has both elements, the sucking of blood and the phases of the moon.

"Okay geek boy, calm down." Dean snapped the last piece of the gun back into place. "So what you're telling me is that we have a geriatric crossbreed, harbinger of death who likes to make her own predictions come true." Sam winced at Dean's use of the vernacular but nodded. "So how do we kill it, I mean is it killable or do we banish it, burn it or what?"

Sam flipped over a few pages before answering. He was making some big assumptions and if he got it wrong then … He didn't finish his sentence. "According to what I've read beheading is the preferred method but you have to do it without looking into the face."

"What happens if you do? Do you turn to stone, drop dead or something?" Dean's voice had the lightness of comedy but the seriousness of his face told Sam that he wasn't joking.

"I don't know but I don't think I want to test the theory."

XXXXXX

Sam flung himself on the bed, revelling in its softness. They'd had no sleep the previous two nights having gone back to the Laundromat and spent fruitless hours sitting waiting. Dean had bitched through the entire second night until Sam in shear frustration had called off the stakeout unable to take anymore whining. Sometimes his brother made him so exasperated that he wanted to scream.

They had then spent most of the morning in the diner, Sam with his laptop open on the table, bickering about what might be the best place to set up that night, given that no hideous crone had appeared at the Laundromat, given the fact that no one had appeared. Sam had a secret notion that Dean's acrimony was directly related to the fact that his mystery lady hadn't turned up with her bag full of interesting underwear. In the end they couldn't agree and to avoid further argument Sam took the executive decision that maybe a night of sleep might give them a fresh edge and Dean for the first time that day had agreed with him.

Looking across to the other bed Sam saw that Dean was already asleep. He lay on his stomach, comforter flung loosely over the lower half of his body. One hand was drawn up disappearing under the pillow no doubt gripping the handle of the knife Dean always kept there. He looked peaceful enough but still Sam worried, his brother had lost that healthy energy that was part of him. It wasn't just the sleepless nights, Jeese he and Dean had had more than enough of those on a hunt. It was something else, a deeper underlying more fundamental loss.

He looked closer at Dean's face, dark lines were etched underneath his brother's eyes and his skin was pale and unhealthy looking. He'd also noticed that his Dean was still not eating properly and as for sleep, Sam couldn't understand it there was no pattern. Several times Dean had slept for nearly twenty four hours and at other times he hardly slept at all. He was definitely becoming more bitchy and fractious all the time and hell to live with; cutting off any discussion Sam tried to initiate, refusing to acknowledge that anything was wrong.

Dean shifted in his sleep, stretching out onto his back, arm flung out over the edge of the bed. On his arm on the inside of the elbow, Sam noticed a dark bruise spreading out over the white skin. He leaned forward switching on the bedside lamp. It was definitely a bruise, mottled and purple in the yellow light. It was weird it looked old and fresh at the same time as if earlier damage had received further injury. Sam's concern deepened, what the hell was up with his brother.

The snick of the lock woke Sam and at first he couldn't discern any change in the room but as his eyes grew used to the dim light he realised with a shock that Dean's bed was empty. "Dean?" There was no answer. "DEAN!" Throwing back the covers Sam checked the bathroom, heart racing as he realised that Dean wasn't in the room. Dressing quickly, throwing on anything which came to hand, slipping his knife into its sheath, Sam made it outside and with relief saw the Impala still parked in the lot. At least Dean was on foot but where the hell had he gone?

XXXXXXX

Dean was dreaming. He walked along the sidewalk picking up his pace as he neared the rendezvous. Excitement stirred in his stomach, he'd never felt anything like this before even with Cassie. This was infatuation, lust, love all rolled into one and then some. He resented anytime spent away from her, he lived to be with her and all other things in his life became insignificant, irrelevant, pointless compared to her.

Suddenly she was there, all around him, encompassing him in her heady fragrance. He was drunk with her, heard himself moan as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, kissing, caressing, owning him.

There was no pain, just peace as she drew him to her and then the ecstasy as she bit down. He gave himself up willingly, giving over control, wanting more. He had no thought for anything but her; she was his whole world, his being, his life.

Pain ripped down his arm, sharp, hot, breathtaking. He was vaguely aware of footsteps, movement and his body, his mind cried out as she was pulled from him.

He fell, crashing to the hard surface of the pavement, weak and fragile as if he might break at the slightest touch, he was unable to react, defend her or himself. He was aware of a struggle, a shriek, scuffling feet, wet sounds, grunts, and then breath panting near to him and all Dean wanted to do was wake up.

XXXXXX

"Wake up Dean, come on can't have you lying about _all_ day."

A voice penetrated Dean's fog filled brain. He groaned as with the consciousness came the pain, a deep aching which made his limbs heavy and leaden it was all he could do to open his eyes. There was a soft chuckle, "So back with the land of the living." The owner of the voice turned slightly so Dean could see his brother lying on the next bed. "Sam's here he's just taking a rest."

Dean struggled to turn his head, his eyes widened as he recognised, "Bobby?"

Still laughing Bobby replied to the silent bewilderment."The one and only."

"Wgh..t…?" Dean wanted to ask so many questions the first of which was 'What the hell are you doing here?' but his mouth didn't seem to want to work properly.

"How you feeling?" Dean frowned Bobby wasn't pissed at him.

"..f..ee..l…l..ike…sh..i..t.."

"I bet." Bobby smiled and Dean decided, yes it was definitely unnerving.

XXXXXXX

Sam heard Bobby talking through his haze of sleep and rubbing his hand over his face he sat up, muscles shaking, his body felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with bear, despite the sleep he'd had. Last night had taken it out of him. The anxiety, the search and …Dean was awake. Sam, relieved, looked over at his brother. "Dude you look like shit." Dean gave him a look which said 'F**k off.'

Ignoring Dean and checking with Bobby, Sam voiced a worry that he'd had since he'd brought Dean back. "Does he need a transfusion?"

"No, he'll do, just feed him some real red meat." Bobby grinned and Sam making a face of disgust, couldn't help thinking that Bobby seemed to enjoy taunting way too much.

Sam glanced back at Dean and saw confusion on his brother's face.

"What happened to me?" Dean sounded a little stronger and was struggling to sit up but didn't make it. Sam watched as Bobby helped his brother to lean forward while he stuffed another pillow behind him.

Sam waited for Dean to settle then handed him a bottle of water and two painkillers.

"What do you remember?" Dean shook his head slightly and it was obvious that he had no idea of what he had gotten himself into.

"Your hot chick was the Death Omen, the Gwrach y Rhibyn." Again Bobby grinned.

"Well don't sugar coat it Bobby." Sam's tiredness let him be irritated but he grinned along with Bobby when he saw the look on Dean's face and he decided to add to his brother's agony. "You should have seen what was sucking on your arm." He saw Dean glance down at the blooded bandage on his elbow and wince as he experimentally flexed it.

"Bitch."

Tiredly Sam sat with his brother watching Bobby change the dressing on the wound. He was so relieved that Dean was gonna be fine that he kind of zoned out letting Bobby take over. Unbidden the last few hours played out in his head. He had been so close to panic when he'd realised Dean had disappeared but his training had kicked in and he'd mentally organised and followed a grid search pattern starting with the most logical place Dean might be. His reasoning had been right. The Laundromat's lights blazed into the dark and as Sam rounded the corner he'd seen Dean walk into the shadow. He'd lost him then for a full fifteen minutes.

Heart thumping Sam had traced and retraced his steps till he heard a moan in the dark and recognised Dean's voice. He'd eased himself into the back alley, keeping close to the building wall avoiding the dumpster. Sam wondered what the hell Dean was doing here? What wasn't he telling Sam? It certainly wasn't the kind of place you take a girl to 'make out.' Dean's usual reason for disappearing but then Dean always told Sam, in great glorious detail, about his liaisons, so why hadn't he said anything? This time it was if his brother didn't know himself what was happening yet he was out here; Sam just couldn't figure it.

Dean was leaning on the rough bricks, head back, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open in an expression of ecstatic pleasure. His jacket and over shirt were crumpled in a heap at his feet and a dark shape was wrapped in his bare arms. Yet, something wasn't right, it was like the shadow was draped over Dean and then Sam realised what he was looking at. He berated himself, as he moved quietly forward, for not seeing sooner what was happening. Dean's lack of energy, the not eating, the bad sleeping pattern, they were all symptomatic of Vampirism. Dean was being sucked dry, little by little and the thing would keep going until Dean died like the other victims.

Drawing his knife and wishing he had brought something larger, he'd edged nearer, he'd wanted to get the thing off Dean as soon as possible but hadn't wanted to distract it until he was ready. Darting forward he'd grabbed at the feeding head, gripping and pulling back. Material gave way and Sam staggered back but at the same time brought his knife hand forward in a swinging arc. The creature's hideous face came up, eyes veined red, blood dripping from the mouth, Dean's blood. The knife contacted, bit through flesh and a piercing shriek filled the alley. Sam had felt himself flung backwards and he'd barely had time to think before the thing was on him.

It was strong, had knocked him back, using the momentum to wrong foot him and drive him down to the floor but Sam had squirmed, rolling his body to the side using his knife again, trying at least to debilitate his attacker. It hadn't worked; he'd been caught by the arm and held while it stripped the sleeves from his jacket and shirt to get to his flesh.

Breath, hot and foul drafted over his skin but before it could bite down Sam had pushed up with his feet arching his back and had wrenched his arm free. Immediately he had turned inwards, bringing his knife hand around while his other had clasped the crone under the chin. Using all his strength Sam had cut down and across through the neck, severing the arteries and windpipe in one sideways movement. He made a second swipe cutting more firmly, through muscle and tissue and a third, severed the head completely; leaving the body to drop with a dull thud to the concrete road.

Sam had stood breathing hard, staring at the misshapen form in front of him when it had changed, shimmered and reformed into a young shapely body. It was then he realised he was still clutching the head under his arm; he looked down and instead of the grotesque, twisted, rat-tailed head he saw a face framed in gold-blonde hair. He flung it from him repulsed by its lifeless beauty.

Dean was alive but it had taken a near-exhausted Sam two hours to get them back to the motel. There he'd cleaned and bandaged the ragged wound on his brother's arm before calling Bobby. Sam had no experience of this kind of vampire bite; he didn't know if they might be infected or poisoned or what but Dean's breathing was shallow, his skin was clammy and white and he showed no signs of coming round.

Bobby said he would come right away and Sam relieved had sunk down on the floor by the bed next to Dean and fallen asleep, head pillowed on his arm holding his brother's hand. The next thing he knew was Bobby waking him and telling him to go lie down.

Dean watched his brother's face go through a series of expressions something had obviously affected him but in his mind Dean was finding it hard to understand events. He'd been having this great wet dream over and over but now Sam was telling him it was true and it had not been this hot chick but some ancient granny vamp…

"And she was sucking on my arm." It still didn't sink in.

"Yeah, in full on Hag mode." Sam gave a little shiver at the memory.

"But she was hot not …you know…"

Bobby explained for Sam. "Yeah, in some of the lore it says the Gwrach y Rhibyn can appear in three guises as a 'Young maiden' or a 'Matron' but when they feed they usually turn into their true form, the crone."

"Thanks for telling me."

"If it helps." Sam swallowed "I don't think you were in control. You were sleepwalking."

Dean sat forward staring at his brother, "SLEEPWALK…," his voice gave out and he flopped back onto the pillows.

"Yeah, I think that's why you didn't remember anything."

Dean looked down at his re-bandaged arm. He really didn't remember anything, only the dreams, the really, really great dreams. "Bitch." He said again.

"Its interesting that such an ancient creature can adapt to our modern ways." Bobby had a thoughtful look. "I wonder if she was washing bloodstained clothes in the Laundromat."

Sam picked up Bobby's thread. "I could go back test the machine. It could be pretty significant if they begin to adopt different behaviours. We…"

Dean put up his hand feeling a little neglected. "Hey, nearly died here."

"You'll be fine, you'll feel a little beat for a while but as I said couple days rest and plenty of food." Bobby dismissed Dean's bid for sympathy.

"Anyway you'd better get your strength back pretty quick." Sam broke in. Dean looked up puzzled at his brother's attitude.

"It's your turn to do the laundry."


End file.
